


The Last Time I Looked At You, the World Ended

by herinfiniteeyes



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Emotions, M/M, PJ is Phil Coulson, Past Lives, Pheels, Reincarnation, bb!pj, fix-it (sort of), unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:12:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herinfiniteeyes/pseuds/herinfiniteeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So basically, this is an AU of an AU inspired by an AU. It's two scenes between Clint and PJ (the reincarnation of Phil Coulson, born on the same day Phil died). PJ grew up as Hawkeye's biggest fan, and now PJ works for SHIELD. </p><p>It's confusing, but I have pheels, okay??</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time I Looked At You, the World Ended

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Biggest Fan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/416215) by [dizmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizmo/pseuds/dizmo). 
  * Inspired by [Conviction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/435632) by [Sinope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinope/pseuds/Sinope). 



> Sorry for my brain. I was reading Sinope's story and all I could think about was what would happen if Phil said or did something that triggered a memory of his past life with Clint as Phil. Then it started CONSUMING MY BRAIN until I had to literally stop in the middle of reading it so I could write this. Yeah, so as of right now, I don't even know how the story ends, so that's why this is an AU of an AU of an AU. /0\ 
> 
> Sinope's story can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/435632

PJ swallows hard and braces himself for what he's about to say next. "I don't know if I'm really Phil or not, but… but I do know that if what you and Phil had was anything like the dreams I've been having about you, then I think -- I think he would have come back for you. And maybe I'm crazy, and you think I'm making it all up, but I do know one thing for sure: I'm in love with you, a-and I think that maybe you're in love with me, too. I don't know why you'd be in love with somebody like me, but I just know that when we're together, all of this -- Phil coming back for you as me -- makes sense. Phil wouldn't have let something as minor as death keep him from being right where he needed to be."

Clint's face is ashen and his eyes are dark and hollow. "And where's that?" he chokes out in a gruff voice. 

This is it, and PJ knows it. If this moment fails to break down the last remaining walls between him and Clint, then that's it, nothing ever will. "Right here, with you."

Clint watches him, silent as a tomb as his direct gaze assesses him with all the intensity that Hawkeye ever uses on a mark. Clint is like the Fates; PJ feels weighed and measured, his ultimate fate hanging in the balance.

PJ decides it's time to take that chance and push things forward just a little bit more. He reaches out to press the pad of his thumb gently to Clint's bottom lip and strokes over it softly. "I'll always be yours," he whispers quietly. 

He only sees a minute slip of emotion in those incredible eyes, full of an immense heartache so deep and profound that PJ never would have believed a mere human could ever survive, before Clint's eyes close to shut him out. 

His shoulders droop and suddenly, he feels older than his twenty years. He's finally ready to give in and let go of Clint, to wearily resign himself to watching Clint sink deeper and deeper into the abyss he's been mired in all these years as he stays ever faithful to the man PJ can only hope to one day measure up to. 

The silence is fractured by the sound of a jagged, cut-off moan before PJ is hauled up against Clint's broad chest. Clint's arms are welcome manacles around PJ's waist, and Clint's face is pressed into PJ's neck. Clint's breathing is ragged and almost physically painful to listen to, because all PJ can hear is the sound of the man he loves trying desperately not to cry in front of him. 

"I can't believe --" Clint chokes out in between harsh, panting breaths. "I can't believe it's you," he says. "I know it is, though. I knew even back then, when you came to that event when you were ten. I knew it was you." 

PJ moves slowly, so slowly that it's maddening, to raise his arms and engulf Clint in a tight hug. Clint doesn't move, doesn't even flinch, and PJ really begins to believe what he's never allowed himself to believe before; Clint knows who he is, and isn't pushing him away. Maybe PJ will really get the ending he's always hoped for. 

A shudder runs through Clint's body and then there's a hot gust of air against PJ's neck that sounds like " _Phil_." 

At first, he's deliriously happy, but then…

But then it's like he's been slapped back to reality, and PJ blinks under the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Maybe he really was Phil Coulson in his past life, but maybe he's not. Maybe he's just PJ, a regular 20 year old kid with nothing extraordinary about him at all. Maybe Clint really does love PJ, but right now it seems like PJ might just be a way for Clint to have the man he truly loves back in his life. 

Maybe PJ's just a poor substitute for the person Hawkeye, the greatest hero in PJ's world, can no longer have. 

PJ suddenly drops his arms back to his sides and it feels like his heart is shattering, breaking into pieces as small as sand. The pain of it is breathtaking, visceral enough to make PJ press the heel of his hand against his chest to try and stop the sharp ache. "I - I should go," he stutters. 

Clint lets him go, a look of surprise etched on his beloved face. 

PJ turns and flees from the room as fast as his dignity will allow. 

 

Weeks pass, and PJ tries to adjust to his new world order: Clint has always been, and will always be, Phil Coulson's lover. PJ can't hope to compete with the man's ghost, and though it rankles him, he's learned a thing or two about the wisdom of strategic retreat. Nothing could have prepared him for this new reality; one in which he no longer allows himself to harbor the illusions that Clint would eventually let him in, let him past all those walls that keep PJ and everyone else at arm's length. Those bright illusions gave him so much hope, even though he'd never really realized just how deeply rooted they were before now, when he's forced to separate himself from all those teenage dreams stupid Katy Perry sang about before Phil even knew what those dreams would mean. 

He's wiser now, though he wouldn't care to admit that it'd taken such a cliche thing as unrequited love to teach him about the world he lives in now. He's older, but still feeling so green when he thinks about the look in Clint's eyes, the weight of the world resting on those humbled shoulders. There's not much more to do at this point than to bury his head in work, dig himself a trench of paperwork so deep and wide that he can't afford to climb his way out until he's ready to face a future that suddenly seems so empty and bleak. 

His steps are heavy as he trudges tiredly back to his rooms nestled in the heart of Shield's headquarters. His back is sore from sitting in an office chair, hunched over a pile of files and reports. His neck aches, his eyes are dry and itchy, and his stomach is complaining all too loudly about skipping both lunch and dinner, but he's finally tired enough to think he might actually get some sleep tonight. 

PJ's not expecting to find Clint Barton sitting on his bed. He's especially not expecting to see Clint Barton at a loss for words, but no less determined for it. "Hey, PJ," he says tentatively. 

PJ shuffles around the foot of the bed to lean back against the standard issue dresser. His clothes only fill two of the four drawers because the rest of his wardrobe consists of suits hanging in the small closet across the room. "What are you doing here?" he asks. 

Clint bounces awkwardly on the bed and puts his hands on his knees. He looks down instead of at PJ. "I came to apologize," he says. 

The last tiny bit of hope that had remained suddenly felt ripped from PJ's chest. "For what?" he asks hollowly. 

Clint looks at him then. "For not telling you what it's like for me to be around you," he replies. "For not explaining why I feel like I can't give you what you want." 

PJ breaks his gaze and looks down at his shiny black wingtips. "I see," he says. "And why is that?" 

Clint runs a flat arrowhead across his knuckles. It's a nervous habit PJ has been long familiar with. "I'm too old for you," he explains. "When I'm around you, I look at you and see this, this hero worship in your eyes. You seem to think I'm some kind of superhero or something, but I'm not, okay? I'm just a guy with really good aim who happened to be in the right place at the right time in order to get recruited to be one of the Avengers. I'm not that guy, though. I'm just me. Clint Barton, the runaway foster care reject that nobody wanted until -- until Phil let me be with him." 

He stops talking then, and it's obvious by the way PJ sees Clint's throat working that he's having a hard time telling PJ all of this. 

It feels like the right thing to do when he steps forward, allows his feet to carry him until he's standing almost between Clint's knees. He reaches out to push his hand through the short strands of hair at the crown of Clint's head. "You _are_ a superhero, Clint, you just never believed it. But you're also a man with flaws and regrets, and I see that in you, too. I don't love you because you were my hero when I was a kid; I love you because you're you. You smother macaroni and cheese in ketchup. You clip your toenails while you watch football. You drink the milk right from the carton and forget to put it back in the fridge when you're done. You send flowers to your mother's grave every year on her birthday, and you do the same for Black Widow."

Clint looks up at him with dark eyes. "How did you know all that?" he asks. 

PJ sighs and drops a fond, undemanding kiss on Clint's forehead. "I did research," he says. 

Clint laughs then, and places his hands on PJ's hips. "I should have known," he quips. 

They look at each other across a breathless divide that's only a few inches in actuality. When Clint pulls PJ in, telegraphing his intent to kiss, PJ resists by pushing against Clint's solid shoulders. "Wait." 

All movement halts. "What?" Clint asks. 

PJ's earnest when he says, "I want to be with you, okay? But I need to know that it's not just because I maybe-possibly-could have been your ex-lover. I know how you felt about him, how you always will, but I don't think I could stand to be the runner up.I don't want to be the consolation prize. I want you to be with me because I'm _me_ , just the way you needed to." 

Clint sighs wearily and drops his head. He pulls PJ in until his face digs into PJ's stomach. PJ buries both hands in Clint's hair and presses his thumbs into the knots he knows Clint carries in the tendons just below each ear. Clint moans and presses his face even deeper, and PJ feels Clint's breath hot and damp against his shirt. They stay like that for a time, the atmosphere as fragile as delicate glass. 

Clint's the first to pull away. PJ lets him go, but doesn't retreat himself. 

"You're right, it'd be unfair of me to expect that you'd be okay with it, but I don't."

"You don't what?" he asks, confused.

"Don't think of you as anything like second best," Clint clarifies. 

PJ blinks, feeling slow. "Okay…?"

Clint's hand comes up to cup the back of PJ's head, and then the full force of those gorgeous eyes is on his, and he feels like he can't breathe. "PJ," Clint murmurs, right before Clint angles his face up to kiss him. 

It's not the same as the kiss they shared years ago before Phil left to go home for a visit. No, this kiss is softer and infinitely more patient. 

It feels like a first kiss. 

There's pent up passion, betrayed by the little nip Clint gives PJ's bottom lip, but none of the dense angst or familiarity that colored the time before. 

There's also a fondness in the way Clint's rough hands hold him, and when the kiss slows and the last, lingering brush of lips ends, there's humble gratitude shining on Clint's face. 

"Um," PJ says. 

"Um," Clint mimics sarcastically and rolls his eyes. 

"Hey!" PJ protests with a playful thump from his fist on Clint's shoulder. 

Clint laughs and dodges away from PJ, and they grapple for a minute until Clint suddenly has PJ laid out beneath him on the narrow twin bed. He looks relaxed and confident, without any of the fear or hesitance that marked every other time PJ's ever seen him. 

Clint's palm is rough with calluses and the brush of his fingertips against PJ's cheek sends a hidden zing of pleasure down PJ's spine. Clint's smile, when it comes, is so bright and happy that PJ thinks he might go blind. 

"PJ," Clint says. 

"Yes?" PJ asks. 

"I'm in love with you," Clint says so simply that one might almost think that it was easy for him. 

PJ's heart thumps loudly in his chest, and he's sure that Clint must hear it. "Oh," he replies like a _total idiot_.

But Clint laughs again and ducks down to brush another kiss against PJ's lips. "So, think you can put up with a crotchety old man like me?" he jokes. 

PJ shoots Clint an exasperated look and pinches one of the solid biceps hovering so close to his face. "Duh."

His gaze is steady and unrelenting when he looks up at Clint. He can still sense a flicker of the ghost in Clint's past, but PJ feels confident that someday all Clint will see when he looks at PJ is PJ himself. 

That's more than enough for him.


End file.
